


System of Touch

by kittydesade



Category: Soldier (1998)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 15:14:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittydesade/pseuds/kittydesade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Trinity Moon colonies offer a much quieter, more prosperous lifestyle than the original colonists were used to. Including counseling for the soldiers. Unfortunately for one of the counselors, Todd isn't quite what she expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	System of Touch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Neery](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neery/gifts).



Sandra left him at her door and gave only one glance over her shoulder as she turned and walked away. The boy gave two, one at her doorstep and one as they were leaving. The soldier did not look back at them.

"Todd."

Something flickered in his eyes; he wasn't used to being called that. The colonists called him Sergeant. No, that wasn't good. She lifted her chin and explained.

"This is not your unit, Todd. These are civilians. It is not appropriate…" She couldn't think of a better word to use for him, although there surely had to be some. "… for them to call you by your military rank only. This is not a military context."

"Sir."

It might have been her imagination, but she thought she heard some kind of disdain or anger in his voice. He didn't like that. He had to respect her authority from the outset or she would never get anywhere. "While you are a member of the community you must be fully a part of the community. The community has no rank, except for leaders or people in positions of responsibility who are voted into their post by the community. Since you are not in a position of responsibility, you are Todd. I am Clara."

She wouldn't take the 'sir' away from him yet. Partly to see if he would drop it on his own, partly because leaving him with some of the old structures to support himself was still necessary. And 'sir' was less of a strictly military designation than 'Sergeant.' He might hear other people calling each other 'sir' in the Trinity Moon colony. No one called each other by a rank.

He nodded, looking as though he might speak but he didn't say anything. The words may have crumbled in his mouth by his expression.

She nodded back after a second, and gestured for him to enter. Not entirely without civilian social convention, he followed.

Her studio had chairs for those who felt more comfortable in them, a table, but also cushions and a couch low to the ground for lounging. "Please, sit down, Todd." His name, and a request, not a commend. She watched him choose the chair, as she had expected, sitting at the table with rigid posture and attentive focus.

Clara walked around the table, keeping in his field of vision as much as she could, and got a cushion from the couch for her chair. She sat cross-legged on it, back straight but more in the attitude of a dancer or a gymnast than a soldier, the possibility of fluid movement and grace in the way her arms folded and settled on the edge of the table. She leaned forward a little, too, dark hair streaked with gray falling down over her shoulders. She did not miss the way his focus flicked over her hair as it moved, framing her face.

It occurred to her that until he came to the colonists, he had probably never seen women outside a military context before. Whether commanding or as civilians caught in a battle.

"Tell me about your history with the colonists, Todd."

\---

For an hour every day, Todd came to see her, and talk to her. Or sometimes just to listen. It was hard; she had no concrete knowledge of what they had done to these soldiers to turn them out this way, only what he told her. And she didn't ask about his history. Likely he didn't remember enough of the earlier parts to give her any data.

She saw him and three others, her colleague Grainne saw the rest. After the day's work they talked about it, how much they were making it up as they went along. Why they, out of the colony's population of twelve counselors, were chosen. They were the steadiest and the most rigid in discipline, did not specialize in children, and they were women. A man was seen as too potentially confrontational. Their first conversation they agreed that Sean must have noticed how differently the soldiers reacted to women and children and picked them out for that reason.

They established, with both their people and the colonists, that there was no way to make these people normal straight from the outset. Before they agreed to take anyone on the entire block of counselors laid down the rule: there was to be no talk of normalization. They were aiming for functional, for the soldiers to not be a danger to each other or the colonists.

And she, though not Grainne, established this with Todd from the second meeting. "I'm not trying to change you into something you cannot be, Todd." Careful to avoid any statements of valuation. "But the way you are, the way you treat and perceive the world, and the way these people treat and perceive the world is too different. The goal of this…"

She reached out and curled her hands around one of his. Her hands were so tiny and his were so big, solid.

"The goal here is to learn from you what the colonists need to do, and to re-train you so that both groups can co-exist in a productive way." Not peaceful. She was wary about using that word with him. "Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

His hand slid out from under hers. She let him go.

"All right. We'll begin with …" This had been hard for her. She had no idea where to begin, he was such a monumental task. "Explaining how the colony works."

\---

Clara spent the next two days talking. Explaining life in the colonies, the roles of most groups of people, her role. Sandra's, as much as any of their roles were defined. He was a military man, a soldier, he needed structure and to know where his place was.

Right now, she explained, they didn't know where he would best fit. But he had skills, and he would be put to use as such. Most likely building and construction, or repair. The colonists weren't always as precise or as quick or strong as they needed to be to do the work, or there weren't enough of them, and the soldiers would be useful. They might also be used to carry out dangerous hunts.

"And that's something new for the colonists you met first," she added. "The threats on that planet were not primarily animal, they were environmental. There are large animals here, and they require people skilled at killing things."

She had rehearsed that before she told him. As calm as possible, and not at all wary of telling a trained soldier whose problem was being too rigid and too disciplined and aggressive that he was needed to help kill things. No, to defend. But they needed his deadliness to defend them.

He nodded. He could do that.

"Todd…" she leaned forward, hoping her words were the right ones. "You're going to find this world is more complex than you're used to. There are no orders here, there are no superior officers. The elected officials are chosen because people believe that they are most capable of making certain decisions for the group. The rest of the time, people make decisions for themselves. When to sleep or eat, what to do, where they work. How to behave, how to treat others."

And that was a whole other mess of sticky questions for later, when he had had time to think about it. If he thought about it. She laid down some baselines.

"Most of the group here, both your colonists and ours, believe that cooperation and compromise is the best way to behave. If there is a question, it should be asked aloud; if the person questioned does not wish to answer, unless the issue is life or death, that person's silence should be respected. A no should be respected. So should a yes. Because we have the freedom to make our own choices, we must also respect the freedom of others to make their own choices. In this way, we all are free. Do you understand?"

He didn't. She saw that he didn't, she saw his eyes flicking back and forth in an effort to lay out her words in a form he could accept. A couple of metaphors came to mind. She could use them, clarify the situation and give him more of a grasp, or she could keep that crutch from him and make him process the thoughts on his own.

After a second the eye movements slowed; he focused on her face and nodded. "Yes, sir."

It was a code of conduct he could maintain, at least. And a code of conduct the rest of the colonists could live with. _You don't have to call me 'sir,'_ she thought, for the fifty seventh time.

"Good." And she smiled.

Sessions with Todd were exhausting; he showed so little of his emotions and she had to work to discern what was going on with him. Now he might as well have been shouting, and all he did was focus his eyes intently on her face. On that movement of her mouth and the corners of her eyes. She watched to see what it meant for him.

In a matter of seconds his expression smoothed. His face relaxed, his eyes lost that laser-like precision. It was almost an answering smile. At the very least it was a neutral-to-positive response to her first attempt to engage him on a human, emotional level. That was something.

Her fingers twitched, reached out to his hands before she spoke again, but when his fingers curled back in towards his palms she completed the motion by folding one hand over the other and did not touch him.

"It will be difficult for everyone, for you, to get used to our less structured way of life, and for us, to accommodate your need for discipline and order. We will all learn things about each other…" It wasn't the first time Clara had said this; she said it at least once a session. This seemed the appropriate time for this hour.

And something else that might be less appropriate. "I think we'll manage. Humans, in general, are an adaptable kind, and good at surviving even in ways you don't know … how to survive, yet." Emotionally, since all he knew was physical survival, even if he was very, very good at it. "I think we'll be all right."

She could tell he didn't understand. But he was trying to understand, which was more than he had done when he'd first arrived on the garbage planet, or so the survivors who came with him had said. She'd take any kind of progress she got.

\---

Free will. Choice. She hadn't thought of these as a burden or a heavy weight until now.

She moved their counseling sessions around sometimes, to introduce him to new settings, new areas. New sounds or sights, and answer what questions he might manage to voice. She asked him, two or three times every time a session was in a new place, if he was all right. The first time he had looked at her as though she was speaking in tongues, not making sense. She had to rephrase it.

"Can you function?"

He nodded, one short, sharp motion. "Sir."

She waited until the session was over to allow herself to think how much she sometimes hated the military.

He never spoke much, unless she asked him to. And when she asked him questions she had to specify for him to answer in detail or he would only use as many words as needed to answer the question she had asked. She learned to ask the questions she meant, not imply them or lead him in the way she could most other people. And if she looked close enough, which she tried to during their hours together, she could understand a number of the things he wasn't saying.

Not everyone, it seemed, was as easy about his silence as she and the new colonists were.

"What are you doing, soldier?"

Clara directed a cranky look at the man, Jerrold, she thought his name was, around Todd's bulk. Admittedly, he had no real way of knowing that this was a counseling hour rather than a walk through the garden district between two people, but she had her stole and robe on, the unofficial uniform of the counselor, and that meant she should have been inviolate. And so should he.

"We're walking, sir." Todd's jaw twitched for a second; irritated, she thought. Responding to her irritation or because they had been interrupted?

A second later it caught up to her, what Todd had said. Not that they were talking, because they were, albeit quietly and with many silences between. Not that he was in a session, which she had heard him say once before, to Sandra. They were walking. Nothing the man couldn't determine for himself, watching them; it was an obfuscating and nuanced statement. For Todd, it was almost snippy.

Jerrold stepped between the rows and came up behind them, continuing to question. "Where are you guys going? Hey, how come you don't hang out with …"

She put a hand on Todd's arm before he could do much of anything. Clara saw the tension in his shoulders and neck, he didn't have to say anything or even growl, as she'd heard him do once before. Jerrold was still chattering and, hell, she kind of wanted to punch him, herself. And she shooed that urge out of her mind the moment she thought it; like a child, Todd would read that in her body language and respond accordingly.

"Hey, how come you don't say nothing?"

"You don't have to …" She searched for a word. "Accept this if you don't want to," she reminded him, low, underneath the man's constant stream of words. "Remember, freedom to choose means taking no for an answer."

He looked at her, intent and piercing, for just a second.

"Aren't you gonna answer?"

His head whipped around and everything within twenty feet of them silenced. "No."

Not, _no, sir._. Just, no.

Jerrold closed his mouth. Clara's hand touched Todd's elbow briefly, steering his attention back to their walk as she started down the path again. He looked at her as they left young Jerrold behind, a question behind blue eyes and furrowed brow. She nodded. "A no must be respected, unless there is very serious reason not to," she told him quietly. Even his no. Yes, he had control and agency in this. No exceptions. When someone says no, or stop, you stop.

He nodded, assimilating that information with tension still knotting his back and shoulders. She walked beside him, and let him be.

\---

Sandra walked him to his session early, once. She was bent nearly double and in the middle of her stretching routine, not expecting this. The other woman paused outside her door, unsure.

Clara lifted her head after a second, then rolled slowly to a standing position. "No, that's all right, you can go on…" And leave him here, with her, like a child being walked to school. Sometimes she wondered if Sandra taking care of Todd was good for either of them. Nathan seemed to enjoy it, though. And Todd clearly was protective of the boy. Whatever that translated to in terms of Todd's behavior and view of the world.

"I'm just doing my stretches," she explained. Yoga, and a couple other disciplines, none of which she explained after one look at his uninterested expression. "You can watch, if you like, or ask questions if you have them…" Or he could sit quietly in the chair and wait for her to finish, as he seemed inclined to do.

They had at least moved from chair and table conferences to couch and coffee table and chair. He was more comfortable on the chair, she was more comfortable sitting and leaning against the hard cushioned wall of the couch. It took them about ten sessions, but they got there. Now he sat on the chair and leaned forward half the time, elbows above knees, while she sat or lounged or curled up.

Except today, when he sat on the chair and faced her and stared as her body twisted and bent until she looked up from a forward bend with her chin over her knee and he was there.

Right there in front of her. The curve of his cheek showed the first few letters of his tattoo, his eyes were watching her and the heat of his breath puffed over her face, her lips.

"Todd…" she managed, trying to control her breathing and her heartbeat and the rest of her and ignore the ache building in the backs of her legs, in her side. "Wh—"

She meant to ask him what he was doing. Except she didn't want to know the answer, right then. He was watching her. Looking at her. She couldn't breathe under the weight of that look, all of him, all his focus, on her.

"Todd…" she took a breath, and it came out strangled. "Please… back up."

He did, sort of. He rolled back on his heels and she curled her leg back under her again, the one that had been stretched out. Pulling her composure around her as well, because the last thing she needed was for him to see her panic. Calm. Control. Ignoring the fact that she was all too aware of his face inches from her head. His fingers reaching down and curling in the ends of her hair, dark and less-dark over tanned fingertips made rough by calluses. She watched him watch the strands slide over his fingers out of the corner of her eye.

"Todd…" she swallowed. Her voice came out in a husky whisper. "Stop…"

There was a heartbeat's worth of time where they were both frozen, and then he was gone. Not within her field of vision.

Clara finished the stretch, pulled out of it as gracefully and smoothly as possible so as not to twist or pull anything with muscles now knotted and tense. Deep breathing; she raised her arms to the sky to stretch her back out, eyes closed, give her time to regain her composure. As little idea as she had what that had been about, she couldn't let it affect her. She could not afford that.

Todd was back on the chair, retreated back into himself somehow. Strange how she could tell that, how the changes in him were so slight session by session and now he was back to the stony, impassive creature he had been before.

She watched for another moment, then went and grabbed her stole from the chair over which it had been draped. Then let it drop again. Instead, she went and knelt in front of him, one wrist on upbent knee.

"Thank you," she said at first, quietly, a private whisper for the two of them, not that there was anyone else to hear. "For listening to me."

Not following orders. Listening. Listening was something civilians did.

There should be an explanation here, too, but she didn't know if she had the words to give it. She barely knew if she had the words to explain to someone who was equipped to interpret a standard set of emotional vocabulary, let alone someone with a radically different paradigm than what she was used to on a personal level. Clara realized she was couching everything in technical terms to avoid dealing with her response to what had happened. Maybe that was for the best, at least until they got through this session. And then she could talk it over with someone else.

Now she did pull her stole from the chair, tugged it around her shoulders and went and sat in her usual place. After a moment, Todd drew himself up and turned to face her. She took a moment to try and finish arranging her thoughts, when it occurred to her the next topic they would have to discuss, to deal with.

And she wondered, for a second, if Sandra was already dealing with it and simply hadn't told anyone.

"What do you know about intimacy between two people, Todd?" she asked, after a second, hands clasped in front of her, loose and as relax as she could force them to be. "As much detail as you can, please."

\---

She took a couple of sessions to discuss intimacy before she even attempted to touch him. Physical contact without present need didn't seem to be something he did very often, just from her own observations. He hadn't taken up with Sandra in any way or form, whether because she didn't want to or because he didn't know how to begin, she couldn't tell. He paid her more attention than he did any other woman that she could discern, but that could be for any number of reasons. He didn't talk about her except when asked. Even in the times when she asked him to respond to general questions in detail.

Maybe that meant she wasn't significant in his thoughts. Maybe it meant he had learned that custom was to not talk about some things, especially intimate things of a romantic nature. Clara didn't think so, though. If for no other reason than she'd observed Sandra's body language over the last couple days, and it was closed off and quiet, in the way of a woman still grieving. She didn't look at Todd like a lover, more like someone under her care to be protected and pitied.

Which, in its own way, made it easier. She could do this next exercise without difficulty or interference from other influences.

"Todd." She smiled, nodding as he came into her home. His expression hadn't returned to quite the openness that he'd had before, but he had relaxed considerably when nothing happened after that 'stop' but some quiet, puzzling conversation. "How are you, today?"

"I am well, sir."

After fifty or sixty hours sessions starting off this way she was pretty sure by now he was either doing it to be stubborn and establish some boundary, or to laugh at her a little. At everyone's insistence on calling things and people by their names rather than ranks or designations. The first couple times it had been _I'm fine_ and then he had adopted the idiom of the colonists. Maybe just because he was around them. Maybe in the same way that Sandra accepted his compromises with words, putting them together in ways he could understand and they could accept. Clara hoped it was making fun. Making fun would be a sign of loosening, letting go and letting new things in.

Humor or not, the corner of her mouth twitched up a bit. "Good." She took a breath; this was something she had considered maybe she wasn't suited for, before deciding that building his trust in another person to this point would take too much time. "We're going to do this… a little different today, Todd. Please… get comfortable. Sitting or standing, a position that you will be more …" At ease, she almost said, before she realized he might take that literally. "More able to feel in control of yourself and what is happening to you."

He considered that for a moment before, yes, adopting the at-ease stance. She drew herself up off the couch and stood in front of him. He wasn't that much taller than her, but enough that she had to look up to meet his eyes. And, of course, very broad.

"You mentioned that the first time Sandra hugged you, you felt… fear, yes?" Somehow she didn't think that was quite the right feeling, or at least, not the word that conveyed to her the proper feeling he had felt.

"Yes, sir." And now there was uncertainty crossing his face, as she brought her hands up to rest them on his chest, fingers spread. No fear, though, and no trembling. He looked her over, face, posture, hands, then back to her face with a silent question.

She kept her hands there, thumb tracing a tiny arc over pectoral muscle as she spoke. "Physical contact, intimate contact, is something we share for a variety of reasons. There are many who would debate how much is needed, between human beings…" Because she wasn't going to get into a long discussion or demonstration on that topic, not with him. "But it is part of being human. We connect with each other, with the world around us, through touch."

Touch. It was an important thing, especially if he was going to stay with Sandra. And her boy. Something clicked into place for her, as she smoothed her hands up and over his shoulders. "When we're little, we learn about the world by how we are touched, because we have few other senses that work so well." Hearing, for one thing. And she would bet what few possessions she had that as an infant he had not been touched except what was absolutely necessary. His ears filled with the sounds of violence and discipline.

He had tensed when she laid her hands on his chest; now he relaxed as her hands traveled slowly down his arms. This was more acceptable. Not so bad, when this was most of the touch interaction he would encounter in the day to day.

"As adults, we touch each other for comfort, or to establish a connection." One hand dropped entirely away; the other slid down his arm to take his hand in gentle mimicry of a handshake. Then she covered that hand with her other hand. "Sometimes both at once."

His eyes flicked back and forth between her hands and her face, but he hadn't tensed up again. Something about the way his head tilted slightly, the way his posture was now bent at very small angles towards her suggested curiosity, rather than animosity or wariness about the lesson. Good, or at least, better than she'd worried about.

She moved his hands to her arms as she explained, curling her hands around his biceps. "Touch means many, many things. Too many to unravel, or explain, even for us. It's …" Intrinsic. How did you explain something that was so basic, so taken for granted? All the little ways they touched each other, a handshake, a clap on the back, a hand on the shoulder.

Had he stepped closer or was it her imagination? No, not her imagination. This was too directionless.

She stepped back, sliding her hands down his arms and curling her fingers over his for a moment before stepping away. "It means many things, most of them requiring context. A handshake between two people who don't know each other is different from a greeting between two people who know each other and see each other every day. Which is different from a greeting between two people who know each other but haven't spoken in a long time."

"A person familiar with another might put a hand on the shoulder or back, by way of saying, here, I'm behind you…" she walked around him slowly, illustrating the point with touch and movement. His head swiveled, owl-like, so he could follow her. "Sometimes by way of comfort as well." She shifted, draping her arm over his shoulders and trying to ignore how utterly strange it seemed for so many reasons. "In this case the message is similar… I'm here, from a friend to a friend, but the implication is different. It's an offer of support."

Not that he would ask or accept it, she thought.

She curled her body around his, one hand pressed to his chest. "There are many nuances to physical contact between lovers," she told him, doubting that he would ever need to practically apply it but he might as well know. "You've described several such, between Sandra and her husband."

And she stopped there, because his hand came up to rest along her wrist, his head turned towards her as she lifted her head and watched him to see where he would take this.

After a second, she kept speaking. "There's no real protocol to interaction…" her words slowed down as he turned in the curve of her arm, not letting go. "… between two people, except in certain specific circumstances." Like this one. Only not, because the protocol for their sessions usually involved a huge amount of leeway for him to explore, figure things out. She took a slow breath and stomped on the urge to swallow or shift nervously. "Most of the time you w-will likely only be touched in friendship or camaraderie, as one friend greeting or congratulating another…" The words were dribbling out of her head. "O-or thanks…"

Her hand gripped his shoulder when his arm curled around her waist. It felt like skidding off a cliff she hadn't known was there, waving her arms and screaming _oh shit!_ the whole way down. Except all the screaming was in her head.

"Todd… this is not… custom-mary between… friends…" Or counselor and counselee. Or …

Something.

It could have gone a lot worse.

She blinked at him, slow, when he lifted his head again and looked at her with expectant confusion. Clara still had no idea what he was asking. Now that that was over, something had snapped loose inside her. Maybe only the freedom that the something unexpected had happened, and after that, what was there really to worry about?

And he looked so puzzled. She found herself smiling, wry and tired, and rubbed one hand over his shoulder slow and gentle while she tried to figure out what was best. He didn't step back, didn't let go, but his grip wasn't half as strong as it could be. She knew that. All right, then.

The last time she'd told him to stop she had set back his ability to talk to her, if not his progress, by weeks. This time… hell. The blunt truth. He was a soldier, before anything, for maybe forty years.

"This makes a problem," she told him, still with that crooked smile, and kept going before he could react to just that. "As your counselor, I'm not allowed to interact with you as… in that way." God, as a wife with a husband, she realized. The first time he saw this, in this context, would have been Mace and Sandra.

Steer away from that thought, far too complicated and far, far too terrifying, and the last thing she wanted to do right now was display fear no matter what the cause. "This is one of those specific circumstances." Oh thank god, familiar ground. "Because a counselor must remain detached from his or her subject, interactions like this, because of… of desires, of wants, are forbidden. We must remain unattached from our subjects because we cannot see what he or she might need correctly if we are involved in their lives in other deep and emotional ways." Not the simplest of explanations, but it was an explanation. However clumsily executed.

And when he tilted his head at her it was more of a puzzlement of what to do now than a sense of rejection. He hadn't moved, either, his hand still light around her wrist, other arm around her waist. She still had her arm up behind his back and around his shoulder, although that was going to get very uncomfortable very fast if they stayed in this position. And she could look up into his tired blue eyes and try to come up with the question she knew she had to ask, even if she had never wanted an answer less in her life.

Coming up with the words to frame it in a way that he would understand best, with the least explanation, was also hard as hell.

"So." She took a breath. "Do you … feel." If that word was even something appropriate, something he would use in his own paradigm. "About me…" Did he even know what it felt like? Was he assuming, because she had helped him in this, that this was how two people that way should interact? No, that would be a mess for someone else to untangle. Clearer words, she needed clearer words.

They came out, not quite in a rush, but far from her usual measured cadences. "Do you feel that you want to be with me the way you've seen others be together? Like Mace with Sandra?"

He nodded.

Now she really had no idea what to do. Except talk it over with the others and find him another counselor.

"This… will take time," she almost gasped, then dragged her thoughts in line. "What you saw, with Mace and Sandra, was the product of several years of knowing each other, living and working together, and building that relationship between them."

He nodded. "I understand, sir."

Fifty or sixty hour sessions had trained her to keep a straight face and not burst into hysterical laughter when he said that, although it was a near thing. "Good. Then… Now. We will… go from here."

And how that went, where they would go and how this would work… she hadn't the first idea.

\---

She came to see him, with Grainne, the next day. Sandra took Nathan out to give them some space; she'd been forewarned. And Clara had talked to Sean and a couple of the others and agreed that this was best, and then they could deal with the other issue if it came up, as it came up. Sean strongly hinted that she might want to talk to one of them about what Todd had done and how she felt about it all, but she wasn't ready for that yet. Deal with this first.

Later that night, maybe, she'd sit with him or Jules or one of the others and talk about it. Trying to sort through all her thoughts and feelings would take a while.

"Todd." He looked up, calm and curious. From her to Grainne and back again. "May we sit?" He nodded.

And then Clara didn't know where to begin. Which was where Grainne took over, thankfully. "Todd, Clara has asked me to take over working with you, since she's no longer able to continue seeing you as your counselor."

Clara almost winced at the bluntness, then considered that it might be the better thing, still. Statements of fact, things he could cope with better than _you scared the wits out of your counselor._ He glanced from her to Grainne and back to her again.

"She'll have her own way of working with you, but she'll be a good fit, I think. She's a lot like me, we both learned from the same person." Which wasn't a hard statement to make. Everyone here learned from the same two people. And the old garbage colony he had come with hadn't had counselors available to him.

He drew back, maybe an inch or two and more in the upper body and shoulders than a full movement, but he still drew back. And his face shuttered down; by the tiny sigh from Grainne, she caught it as well. Trust was not an easy thing to come by, the more so for these people, these soldiers who were apart from everything in so many ways. She hadn't expected the transition to be easy, but now that they were discussing it she had to try to think how to make it easier on everyone.

Grainne leaned forward before she could think of anything, and Clara sat back, letting the other woman have room to maneuver. "It'll take time … Todd." She narrowed her eyes at him. "I'm not here to hurt you, and I'm not going to try and contradict what she's taught you. I'm here because I can be detached and impartial, and help you in the ways that you need to be helped, and the community as well." The younger woman had a more forceful attitude that challenged him, but also pulled him up straight, as though he would lurch up and do violence.

He didn't, though. And he glanced at her one more time, then back to Grainne. And then he nodded.

**Author's Note:**

> This is closer to the story I meant to write for Yuletide but didn't have time. The original character was meant to be Sandra, but it worked well with someone less attached. It also wasn't quite supposed to be this long or go quite where it did, but that's where it wanted to go, and hopefully that works.


End file.
